Did You Miss Me?
by toshibaschmiddy
Summary: Moriarty is back, and the stakes have never been higher. Based on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Valley of Fear. (Occurs after the series three finale, His Last Vow)
1. Chapter 1

I

"Who needs me this time?" Sherlock asked, looking out the small window.

Mycroft paused. "England."

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows momentarily before he realized. He stared off in silence for a few moments. Mycroft was going on about something on the other end, but Sherlock had tuned him out. _How? _He thought. _I saw him kill himself. Even if he did somehow survive, it's been over two years. Why would he choose to reveal himself now? _Then Sherlock remembered the mission he had been previously assigned to._ I see. Every fairy tale needs its dragon slayer._

"Sherlock are you listening?" Mycroft hissed. "This is a matter of national importance."

"Of course, brother. I was merely placing my tray table into its full upright position for landing."

"This is no time for jokes, Sherlock. If Moriarty truly has returned, the entire country could be in jeopardy."

"I'm afraid I'll have to call you back, all electronic devices must be turned off and stowed away during landing," Sherlock replied before hanging up. He looked out the elliptical window until he could see the small figures down below, John and Mary. He stood as soon as the plane landed, collecting his coat and scarf. Sherlock stifled a smile as he made his way to the exit. John approached him as he walked down the small flight of stairs, Mary close behind him.

"So you've heard then? About-"

"Yes," Sherlock interrupted.

"I don't understand, John told me he killed himself," Mary interjected.

"Told you the same about me, I presume," said Sherlock. "We all know how that turned out."

John retorted, "Yeah, does anyone actually die or is that just some make believe concept we normal people have constructed?"

"How did he do it?" Sherlock asked.

"Well we're all wondering that," Mary answered.

"No, I mean how did he reveal himself?" Sherlock asked, growing impatient. "How did his survival suddenly come to everyone's attention?"

A look of confusion came over John. "Uh, I dunno Mycroft just said he was back. Why, is that important?"

Sherlock let out an annoyed growl as he paced back and forth. He stopped abruptly and pointed at John. "Call my brother. I need to know exactly how Moriarty did it. It could be vital." He placed his hands, palms together below his lips as he plunged deep into thought.

Mary walked over to him, clearly worried. "Sherlock?"

"Hm?"

"You're sure he could be back?"

Sherlock looked over, drawn out of concentration. He noted her fear and nervousness as well as something else. Apprehension? "I don't know," he admitted.

II

John and Mary were driven back home while Sherlock had to be escorted by Mycroft.

"So, brother," Mycroft said. "Narrowly escaped punishment, didn't you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes from the back seat.

Mycroft paused. "You don't happen to have anything to do with this do you?"

"Oh for God's sake, Mycroft you don't think-"

"All I'm saying is that it was rather perfectly timed. And you know what we say about coincidences."

"He must have known," Sherlock replied. "_Somehow_ he must have known. He told me once that we needed each other. There's not a doubt in my mind that he'd go to some lengths to keep me around."

John and Mary walked into their house, the midday sun filling the entrance with a soft white light.

"I better go see if Sherlock needs me. God I can't believe this is happening. You have no idea what Moriarty can, and is willing to do," John nervously stated.

Mary pressed her lips together and nodded.

"You just rest, alright? And don't worry. I'll be back soon," he reassured her before hurrying out the door.

Mary took a deep breath as she tried to steady her rapid heartbeats.


	2. Chapter 2

John entered the flat to see Mycroft standing beside his brother, who was sulking on the couch.

"Ah, John Watson. I'll leave him in your capable hands," he said, referring to Sherlock.

"Well then. Any news?" John asked after Mycroft had gone.

Sherlock sneered. "I'm under house arrest."

John noticed the ankle bracelet poking out from under his trousers. "You're under house arrest?" he asked.

"How do they expect me to get anywhere with this case if I can't leave the flat?" Sherlock complained.

"Well you have just killed a man," John pointed out. "Most people wouldn't like the idea of you wandering the streets scot-free."

"I'll have to rely entirely on my homeless network," Sherlock muttered.

"Need me to do anything for you?" John asked.

"Nope."

"Your homeless network already on it then?"

"No idea."

"Then what are we doing to stop Moriarty?" John wondered.

"Nothing at the moment," Sherlock replied.

"Nothing? Moriarty is back and we're doing nothing?"

"We need to wait for him to make the first move."

John was flabbergasted.

"I've got some new board games if you're interested." Sherlock told him as he stood.

"No, Sherlock, we're not playing games while Moriarty is at large."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"My God," John laughed in disgust, "I can't believe you're not taking this seriously!"

"Of course I'm taking this seriously, John!" Sherlock shouted. "But there's nothing I can do! I've got nothing to go on, I've 'just killed a man', and I can't even leave the flat!"

John nodded as he pursed his lips. "Alright, Sherlock. I'm going home. Let me know if anything comes up."

Sherlock sighed. "John-"

The door slammed as John left, his footsteps growing softer as he descended the stairs.

Sherlock's phone buzzed.

_Got something you might be interested in_

_W_

Sherlock smiled.

Half an hour later, Mrs. Hudson's shrieks were heard from below as three disheveled-looking boys entered the flat.

"Where's Wiggins?" Sherlock sighed.

"'e told us to deliver this to you, Mister 'olmes." One of the boys explained as he held out an envelope.

Sherlock paid him a few pounds in exchange. "Next time tell him to bring it himself. I can't have all of you running about and scaring the landlady."

"Yes sir, Mister 'olmes," the boys promised as they left.

Sherlock opened the envelope and unfolded the note inside. It was from Fred Porlock, he recognized the writing. The flourish over the Greek 'e' was distinctive. Porlock was one of his insiders he had employed to get information on Moriarty. Sherlock stared at the slip of paper, absorbed in his thoughts.

John had been home for about forty-five minutes before he received a text from Sherlock.

_BAKER STREET AT ONCE_

_IT'S OUR MOVE_

_SH_

John got up and grabbed his coat. "Mary I've got to go, Sherlock says he's found something. I won't be too long."

Mary looked up from her book and watched her husband leave. The door slammed to a close and she stared ahead, thinking.

John rushed up to the flat. Sherlock was at his desk, focused on a scrap of paper. John walked over to him. "What's that?"

"A message. From one of my informers on Moriarty."

John looked over Sherlock's shoulder at the note upon which was scrawled:

534 C2 13 127 36 4 21

13 37 BIRLSTONE

"Is it some sort of code?" he asked.

"Clearly," Sherlock replied. "It's some sort of cypher. We just need to find out what book is being used."

"Book?" John questioned.

"Yes, it's obviously referring to words on the page of some book."

"Why didn't they encode 'Birlstone'?"

"Well presumably because it's not found on the page in question"

"Why didn't he leave a note telling you what book the code's referring to?"

Sherlock sighed. "It would be a critical error to conceal both the cypher and message in the same envelope, should it be miscarried. A second letter shall be here any moment revealing the exact book we need."

A few moments later, Billy arrived with the second envelope just as Sherlock had expected.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." Sherlock claimed, excitedly. But his brow clouded as he scanned the note.

"What is it?" John asked. "What does it say?"

"Dear Mister Holmes," Sherlock read. "I can't go on with this matter any further. He suspects me. I can feel that he suspects me. Burn the cipher I previously sent, it can be of no use to you. Fred Porlock."

"Well there goes that lead." John said futilely.

Sherlock sat holding the note, lost in thought. Suddenly he exclaimed, "Unless there are some points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect." He stood and began pacing back and forth anxiously. "Let's consider the facts, what we have to go off of. This particular cipher is based on a book."

"Yes, narrowed it down quite a bit there."

"What clues do we have as to which book it is referring to?" Sherlock asked, ignoring John's comment.

"None," John replied.

"Ah, that's where you're wrong," Sherlock smiled. "Look here," he said, pointing to the code. "The first number is 543, if that is referring to page number we can infer that it is a very large book, which narrows our field a bit. What next? We see C2, what do you think that could mean?"

"Chapter two?" John guessed.

Sherlock scoffed. "Really, John? Chapter two starting after page five hundred forty-three? It's clearly indicating _column_ two."

"Well that's it then?" John asked. "A big book with columns?"

"I don't think we've quite exhausted our knowledge of this book," Sherlock hinted. "Had the book been esoteric in nature, it would have been sent to us."

"Which means it must be common," John gathered.

"Precisely," Sherlock said as he made his way to the book shelves. "This was a book Porlock had and assumed I would have as well."

"The Bible?" John tried.

"No, too many versions, it'd be far too unreliable," Sherlock disparaged. "No, this book had to be something standardized something that would be easy to correspond."

"So a large, standardized book with columns that most people own," John summarized. "A dictionary or some sort of almanac?"

"A dictionary's vocabulary would be difficult to make into general messages; let's go with the latter."

Sherlock rummaged through the rows of books until he found the almanac. He quickly decoded the message aloud, as John recorded it.

"There… Is… Danger… Coming… Soon… Target… At… Birlstone."

"What's that supposed to mean?" John wondered.

"Someone presumably at Birlstone is in danger."


	3. Chapter 3

"Birlstone," Sherlock murmured. "I know I've heard it before, but where?"

"Yeah it does sound a little familiar, doesn't it?" John agreed before stopping short. Sherlock stared off at nothing as the blood drained from his face. "Sherlock?"

Suddenly Sherlock snapped back to his senses. "John quickly, grab your gun. There'll be a cab outside, just take it as soon as you get downstairs," he commanded, as he rushed out of the flat forgetting about his house arrest and abandoning his coat and scarf.

John didn't stop to think either, and quickly retrieved his gun and ran out to the cab which was, as promised, waiting for him. He got inside, and it instantly drove off at a speed which was certainly above the limit. They arrived at their destination in minutes, an apartment complex. An ambulance and several police cars appeared to have beaten John there. Sherlock stood outside, a grave expression masked his face.

"What's going on?"

Sherlock stood in silence.

"Sherlock?"

"I knew I'd heard of Birlstone before," he muttered.

John was becoming increasingly nervous; his heart had begun to race. "What- what are you talking about Sherlock? Who lives here?"

"Molly Hooper."

That's when John remembered where he had heard of Birlstone. It was the name of Molly's apartment complex. She must have mentioned it before and John had forgotten.

"My God," he responded. "Is she alright?"

Sherlock looked at John, his expression told him everything.

Lestrade walked over, his eyes tinged with red. His voice wavered slightly when he spoke. "We found this inside. Says it's for you," he said as he handed a sealed envelope to Sherlock before walking back towards the crime scene.

The moment Sherlock saw the seal, he knew. _A magpie. _He and John looked at each other before he tore open the note.

_Sherlock,_

_Tricky thing, caring, isn't it? But then again, you should know. _

_I did try to be thorough last time, but I guess I missed one. Oh well, nobody's perfect._

_Won't happen again. _

_P.S. Fake suicide? Very original._

"What does it say?" John wondered.

"Molly was targeted because of me," Sherlock replied.

"What?"

"The night before I met Moriarty on the rooftop, I went to Molly and asked her to help me fake my death. I went to her because I suspected she was the only one who Moriarty wouldn't target."

John's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean the only one he wouldn't target?"

Sherlock sighed. "When we were on the rooftop, Moriarty threatened to kill everyone I- cared about unless I killed myself."

"So…"

"Yes, you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade-"

"No, I mean that's why you did it?"

Sherlock was silent for a second before he looked away towards the crime scene. "Somehow he must have found out that Molly helped me. I should have known he'd find out. I should never have involved her."

John tried to console him. "Sherlock, listen. Blaming yourself won't-"

"No, John I am to blame! This is _my _fault! I used her because I knew she would help me, and now she's gone. I always used her and I was always so awful to her and she still helped me. I don't think she ever truly understood how thankful I was."

The two were quiet for a moment until they walked back to the flat.

A few weeks later, John and Mary arrived at the flat to get Sherlock for the funeral.

"Sherlock, the funeral is in thirty minutes; now get yourself together so we can pay our respects."

Sherlock lay stretched out on the couch in his pajamas and housecoat, his usual attire for the past few weeks. "What for? It's pointless to go stand around a hole and cry over someone," he mumbled.

John sighed. "I know you're upset, we all are, but Molly's our friend, and we need to be at her funeral whether you agree with the concept or not."

"It could be good closure." Mary chimed in.

"I don't need closure," Sherlock retorted as he stood. "I need to stop Moriarty. Now, I've taken care of his network, so he's weak-"

John stopped him before he could continue. "Alright, but it can wait until after the funeral, yes?"

Sherlock silently agreed as he sulked off to his room to change.

_This is a waste of time, _Sherlock thought as he watched family members and friends hold each other and cry. _Time that could be better spent tracking down Moriarty._

"Sherlock!" someone called. "Come and say a few words!"

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath before making his way towards the mourners.


End file.
